


veins all tangled close

by cuttothequickk



Series: makedamnsure [3]
Category: Durarara!!
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Developing Relationship, Flirting, Introspection, Light Angst, M/M, Making Out, Seduction, Smoking, This Is Why We Can't Have Nice Things
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-13
Updated: 2018-02-13
Packaged: 2019-03-17 19:14:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,215
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13665531
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cuttothequickk/pseuds/cuttothequickk
Summary: It's been five minutes and Shizuo is still in Izaya's bed.





	veins all tangled close

**Author's Note:**

> Title, as always, from "makedamnsure" by Taking Back Sunday.

It’s been five minutes and Shizuo is still in Izaya’s bed. Izaya is just now catching his breath again, his limbs splayed out across a mattress so big Shizuo doesn’t have any trouble fitting in next to him without any of their respective limbs touching, and Izaya feels the absence like a physical touch, and it makes him jittery and restless. He sighs a breath and wonders if Shizuo will roll back over onto him, if the thought has even crossed Shizuo’s mind—probably not, considering how much he definitely hates Izaya. But maybe, Izaya thinks, because the beast does seem to have a rather romantic view of sex, continually asking if Izaya’s okay, if he’s hurting him, if he needs Shizuo to stop, if he even just sort of wants Shizuo to stop—

 

The answers are always yes, yes and that’s a good thing, no, no, _nooo, don’t stop, Shizu—ah—chan, fuck—_

 

Fuck. It’s been eight minutes and Shizu-chan is still in bed. The monster is breathing next to him, shifting a little, rustling the covers, probably just a hairsbreadth away, although really, why does Izaya even care? Shizuo is sitting up now, reaching for his pants, which are discarded somewhere on the floor. He pulls something out of it and fits it to his mouth—a cigarette, then, and Izaya makes a spluttering sound and jolts upright as Shizuo shoots him an audacious glance and lights the cigarette right in front of Izaya, in Izaya’s own home, in Izaya’s own bed, and really, how fucking dare he.

 

So. “How fucking dare you?” Izaya asks, his voice more sarcastic than angry, and Shizuo takes a long drag and exhales up towards the ceiling, lying back on the bed and laughing. It’s a comfortable laugh, one that says he knows he’ll get away with smoking in Izaya’s bed. One that says he knows he’ll get away with it today, and he’ll get away with it tomorrow or the next day, and he’ll get away with it next week, and he’ll even get away with it later tonight if they go another round right now. The way Shizuo looks lying naked in his bed with a cigarette in his mouth makes Izaya hope they will.

 

One way to make it happen.

 

“Give me that,” Izaya says, rolling over onto his side to snatch the cigarette out of Shizuo’s hands, ignoring the startled “hey!” from the monster to press the cigarette to his lips and take a drag, the burn of smoke singeing his lungs, nicotine sparking through his veins and making the world spin heady for a moment.

 

Izaya pulls the cigarette from his mouth and exhales the smoke in a rush, the cigarette balanced between delicate fingers, his eyes half-lidded as if he actually likes this, as if he’s an addict desperate for a hit of his craving, now satiated having finally received it.

 

Shizuo is sitting up, his mouth parted in a soft oval, and he’s staring at Izaya like Izaya is something stunning and captivating and altogether beyond what Shizuo can possibly believe, and Izaya feels a low heat pool in his stomach, but it’s not the usual one that feels like something unbridled and out of control, something lusty and needy and hazy. It’s a new feeling, one he’s experienced in brief passing a few times before when Shizuo has been particularly attentive. It’s a feeling of emptiness, and Izaya wonders vaguely how it’s possible to feel something not as a presence, but as an absence. It’s the lack of something, but it’s also the desire to be filled, like the suspicion that if he stays right where he is, he will be.

 

The look Shizuo is sending him is heady and tense, like he’s halfway scared and halfway enthralled, weightless with something gentle and tender and too real to be anything other than unadulterated desire—not lust, not arousal. Just desire.

 

Izaya’s breath catches in his throat. Shizuo looks dazed, but he has the sense to tug the cigarette out of Izaya’s fingers before it can spill ash onto the bed. He drops the rest of the cigarette into the cup of water on the nightstand and reaches for Izaya in one smooth motion, both his hands coming up to frame Izaya’s face and pull him into a gentle but deep kiss. Shizuo is leaning forward, laying Izaya back, pressing him into the bed with the kind of care that makes fingers tremble and eyes flutter shut. Their tongues tangle but it isn’t frantic. The kiss is languid and slow, Shizuo’s arms holding Izaya close as their legs interlock, and Izaya feels dizzy and breathless, unable to pull air into his lungs, swallowed whole by this unnamable feeling that’s come over them.

 

Shizuo pulls away and meets Izaya’s eyes, his expression still so wholly focused that Izaya can’t help but wonder what the blonde is actually seeing. It’s like he’s looking at Izaya and seeing through him, but not seeing through him, really, because really it’s more like he’s seeing through every wall, every defense, every mask Izaya wears to actually see _Izaya_ , and it’s devastating and terrifying and Izaya prays it will never end, that Shizuo will always look at him like this, every second, every day, forever.

 

Better not to let that train of thought get away from him, though. It’s been fifteen minutes and Shizuo is still here, still looking at Izaya with a reverence that Izaya thinks he might never be appraised with again, and so instead of drawing it out, he cuts the moment short with a forced wicked grin that almost certainly doesn’t reach his eyes.

 

“Has Shizu-chan’s single brain cell gone off into space? Or maybe it died. Wouldn’t take much to destroy it, after all,” he manages, and it sounds petty and small, a dull knife splitting the moment with no precision or accuracy, just something to fuck up whatever’s going on here and make it stop before it grows beyond what Izaya can possibly handle.

 

Shizuo looks disappointed for a moment, but he hides it well behind a scowl and sits up, letting Izaya go to climb out of bed and tug on his pants.

 

“I didn’t mean you have to go,” Izaya says, petulant. “Not up for another round, Shizu-chan?”

 

“No,” Shizuo bites out, and it’s gruff and frustrated, not the word either one of them wants to hear. “See you around, Izaya,” he says, stalking out the door like a bristling wildcat, the name sounding more like an insult on his tongue than “flea” usually does anymore. Izaya wants to call out, wants to point out that it’s been twenty minutes and Shizuo is still here, and he could stay, could stay for another hour or two or even all night and Izaya wouldn’t mind.

 

Shizuo is already gone by the time any words come into Izaya’s mouth, and he swallows them down like bitter pills and leans back in bed and tries to fall asleep. By two a.m., he’s tossed and turned enough that he knows sleep is pointless, and he’s uncomfortable anyways, and so he climbs out of bed and sits at the window, staring down at his humans below and telling himself that it’s enough.


End file.
